


No One Believes It Is Happening Now

by OneFrustratedWriterPerson



Series: A Host of Golden Daffodils [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 04:02:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7084861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneFrustratedWriterPerson/pseuds/OneFrustratedWriterPerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A century wouldn’t have been enough.</p><p>But what else could they do against something as inevitable as fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No One Believes It Is Happening Now

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the poem, A Song On the End of the World by Czeslaw Milosz

It was over too soon after it began.

They had two years.

It wasn't near the lifetime either of them envisioned.

A century wouldn’t have been enough

 

* * *

 

Darcy Elizabeth Lewis meets James Buchanan Barnes in the most unlikely of ways.

It was during one of those nightmare-filled evenings. Darcy finds herself baking up a storm in the kitchen, just checked in on a batch of Clint’s favorite brownies in the oven, when she notices him standing quietly, clearly hesitant, from the far end of the room. 

“ _Dude,_ you almost gave me a heart attack.” She gets nothing from him aside from a mild twitch of his eyebrows (she still counts it as a win). “James, right? Or do you prefer Bucky? Steve’s talked about you a lot.” She ends with a weary smile, hoping she’s saying the right things.

He clears his throat slightly, “James is fine.”

“Coolio, James. I’m Darcy Lewis, resident scientist wrangler, pop culture guru, and all around awesome person. Sorry it took a while to introduce myself, boss-lady—that’s Jane Foster, astrophysicist, Thor’s other half—decided two days of non-stop science-ing is totally fine and normal.” She gives a small laugh, one that spoke of deep fondness, before adding, “want a cookie?” She presents him with a plate filled with newly baked goods; the smell of chocolate and cinnamon wafting to him in invitation. He caves, walking slowly (to not scare her further), and plants himself in one of the counter stools directly across from her.

She pushes the plate to him, smiling as she does so, before picking up another metal bowl and continuing her baking binge. 

James couldn’t stop the tiny groan of pleasure (even if he tried) from biting into the best cookie he’s ever had. He notices Darcy grin cheekily—knowingly—at him, “it’s always like that the first time.” Pouring the yellow batter into a round tin, she adds, “don’t worry, everyone does that. Tony moaned out loud the first time. Steve went red like you wouldn’t believe. It was wonderful.” Her laughter rang bright. He smiled kindly in turn.

“My ma used to bake before.” He mentioned, stuffing another cookie in his mouth.

“Ya?” Darcy turns to check on the oven again, and pleased with what she saw, two square pans of decadent looking brownies landed in front of him, “you help her?” The oven door closes with the rounded tin inside.

“Nah, just stole cookie dough when she wasn’t lookin’” She raises an eyebrow at him, lightly clicking her tongue in reprimand. He keeps his face neutral as he eats another cookie, though the muted glint in his eyes give him away. “What are you making?” he asks, as she pulls another mixing bowl from the cupboard. 

“Oh, um, vanilla bean and caramel frosting for the cake. Nat loves this stuff.”

He hides his surprise at her words, choosing instead to comment on the spread of cooling pastry on the counter. “You’ve certainly been busy.”

She merely shrugs her shoulders as she continues to whisk in heaps of powdered sugar, “couldn’t sleep.”

He lets her work in silence, regretful for making things awkward between them. Setting the finished bowls of frosting aside, she cuts and transfers the brownies into a plastic container, and reaches out to snag one cookie for herself. She glances at the time, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that it’s well past three in the morning. 

“Do you have any requests? I’m running out of ideas.” 

Caught off guard a second time (he hears the soldier berate him for it), he spews out the first thing that came to mind. “Apple pie?”

“We still have some in the ref, I think, from two nights ago.” 

“Peach mango?”

“Hmm…don’t think we have peaches.”

“Banana bread?”

“Made some last week.”

“Uh,” racking his brain, he sees the almost empty plate before him (he hasn’t even noticed he’d eaten that much), “more cookies?” 

“Cooki—oh.” She eyes the half dozen cookies left, and James’ apologetic grin. “Don’t worry about that too. Thor plowed through two batches once. Clint had to fight him for his share.” 

She seemed to think for a moment, tapping her chin with a finger, before proceeding to pulling out jars of flour, sugar, and other ingredients from the pantry. She pours in the necessary amount into a clean metal bowl (seriously, how many mixing bowls does Stark own?) and places it in front of him. He stares at her blankly. She downright beams at his confusion.

“Come on, James. Let’s put that metal arm of yours to good use.” 

He blushes (for the first time in a long while). “Ah—yes, ma’am.”

 

* * *

 

Enough late night and/or early morning baking/movie/gossip marathons pass. 

Enough that James becomes Bucky. 

And Darcy…well, Darcy becomes his favorite reason to stay.

 

* * *

 

It’s ridiculous how none of them considered the possibility of something like this happening, given how unpredictable their lives are. Danger was second nature to all of them—even the people they love weren’t saved from the occasional death threat.

Looking back, it was stupid for them not to. 

But what else could they do against something as inevitable as fate.

 

* * *

 

They’re curled up in the couch together, legs tangled, his (metal) arm around her shoulders, keeping her close. They were watching Mulan (of all things) and had just gotten to the part where the Emperor was being threatened by Huns, when Darcy turns and presses a gentle kiss on the side of his neck. 

“Hey, Buck?” 

“Hmm?” He responds mindlessly, eyes on the screen, his left hand twiddling with the gentle curls of her hair.

“I love you.” Beneath her, she feels his body tense, and quickly tries to brush off his worries, “you don’t have to say it back. I just wanted you to kn—”

“ _Darce._ ” There’s a certain mixture of awe and frustration on his face, as if he’s trying to find the words. “I—” he starts, breaking off when he wouldn’t seem to capture what he wanted to say. She just waits patiently for him, hand on his chest like it belongs there, and that, more than anything else, makes him sag into her. Kissing her hair, he finally admits in a quiet, emotion-filled whisper, “I can’t lose you.”

She plants a tender kiss on the corner of his mouth, “you won’t.” He clings to her, praying to god all of this wasn’t just a dream. (He doesn't think he could handle it if it were.) “Even when you’re being a jerk, you won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

 

* * *

  

Most people forget that everything matters—every _goddamn_ second.

 

* * *

 

The call to assemble comes in early that morning, just as Bucky was cracking eggs for the omelet he’d promised Darcy the night before. Steve, the insufferable punk, teases him about his blissfully domestic life— _When are you gonna make an honest woman outta Lewis, you jerk? Your ma’s probably rolling in her grave right now_ —before informing him that they found a definitive lead to the illusive Hydra stronghold they’ve been tracking down for months.

Promising to be at the base in half an hour, after reminding him to, pointedly, _mind his own business, you hypocrite—_ he may or may not have coughed out a word that sounded like _Latasha_ (or was it _Matasha?)_ during the exchange—he makes quick work of whipping up breakfast, not forgetting to get the coffee brewing (lord knows what would happen if Darcy doesn't get her daily dose of caffeine). 

Everything in its place, he rushes to the bedroom to get changed, grabbing his “bag of badassery” (her words, not his) from the hidden closet compartment. Darcy comes out of the bathroom a moment later, dressed to the nines for the big international summit Stark Industries had elected to sponsor. The event wouldn't start until later that day, he recalls, but he figures she’d want to be there to oversee last minute preparations as the head honcho of the whole thing. (Both Pepper and himself couldn't be prouder.)

She takes one look at the bag of badassery and knows something big is about to go down. Bucky doesn’t just lend his ninja skills to simple ops, and even then he only really comes in when his particular skill set is required (or when Steve asks very, _very_ nicely). 

“Steve called?” She asks, already knowing the answer. She makes her way to him, smoothing out invisible wrinkles in her blouse as she does so. 

“Yeah, said they got information about this base we’ve been tracking.” He meets her halfway, wrapping his hands loosely around her wrists and pulling them to settle on the sides of his hips.

“Hey,” he starts, her eyes snapping to meet his, and seeing the feebly masked worry swirling in her eyes, he adds, “it’s going to be fine. The whole team will be there; plus, you know how Steve and Nat get. We won’t go in without precautionary measures for just about anything.”

She sighs, “I _know_ that, Buck. I worry about you, that’s all.” Freeing her right hand, she reaches up and rests her cool, soft palm at the side of his chiseled jaw, her thumb brushing the unshaved scruff there, “I think I’ll always worry…I worry about everyone really, you most of all, but you’re right. You’ve got this. You’re the _freakin’_ Avengers. Loser Hydra doesn't stand a chance.” She raises her other hand in a power fist and curls her lips into the playful smirk that he loves.

There wasn't really anything else for him to do but to lean down and kiss her tenderly (carefully, knowing how much work she put in to get dressed).

“You’re gonna do great today.” He whispers, pulling away slightly. She exhales loudly, the tense lines of her shoulders melting away, as if she needed and was waiting to hear the words. 

“Thanks, Buckaroo.” She whispers back, giving him one last peck on the lips before pulling away completely. 

He reaches for his bag (of badassery) and remembers the omelet waiting for her on the kitchen counter. “I made you breakfast. I’m sorry I have to leave you alone, but they’re asking me to come in this morning and,” he glances at the clock by the bed, “if I don’t leave now, I won't hear the end of it.” 

She dismisses the thought with a casual flip of her hand. “Eh, Sam’s just being a dipshit because he hasn’t mustered up the courage to ask Maria out. You know, we’ve got do something to get those two together yesterday,” Darcy’s eyes flash with a mischievous glint, “maybe Nat has an idea.” 

Bucky outright laughs, “You minx, we can talk about this more when we get back.” She blows him a waggish kiss as she grabs her favorite Louboutin heels (a gift from Jane) and starts putting them on. 

“You gonna be okay?” He asks, hesitant to go despite the dwindling time.

“Of course,” slipping on her killer shoes in a way that makes him not want to leave, “the company car’s coming by to pick me up in a few. Happy will be waiting for me when I get there.” 

Standing a good three inches taller, she saunters back to him and reaches up to brush back the loose hair on his forehead. Tapping her finger twice, she gives him a loving smile before dropping her arm. It was something she began doing when they first started dating—a type of ritual they do every time he had to leave for a mission. Darcy, in a tender voice that makes his heart ache for her, unfailingly reminds him, 

“Don’t forget me, you goob.”

And he always ( _always_ ) grins right back, “wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”

 

* * *

 

He gets there with barely a minute to spare, and he has to roll his eyes at Sam’s cheeky smirk from across the room. “Morning, Buck.” Steve greets before motioning everyone to take their seats. He hides his surprise at seeing both Thor and Tony in attendance—as far as he knew Thor was suppose to be in Asgard (trying to negotiate with his father about his Midgard excursions) and, well, last he heard Tony was neck deep with his renewable energy project back in Malibu. 

Maria marches up to the front, tablet in hand, and wastes no time, diving right to the thick of it. Aerial shots of what they assume is the Hydra base bombard the screen behind her, as well as time lapses of surveillance outside the facility. Coordinates flash on the corner of the screen, and past information flow to his mind almost immediately. It seems Hydra wormed its way to the Philippines, setting up a compound somewhere in its southernmost island ( _Mindanao_ , the soldier supplies), right at the core of one of the most treacherous mountain range in the country.

“There’s not much in terms of activity in and out of the facility, but satellite imagery is showing a mammoth-sized labyrinth underground, stretching for at least a kilometer or two. We have no means of knowing how deep the structure is—the mineral composition of the soil isn't doing our sensors any favors—but we’ve identified multiple passageways and tunnels that may get us inside—all of which are heavily guarded, security rotations overlapping to minimize possible windows.” She plays the corresponding clips before zooming out to a broader view, this time showing the surrounding landscape. 

He understands now why he was called in—not because Steve asked, but because the team was gonna need all the help it could get. The tactician in him snaps into attention and starts working overtime to analyze the situation.

It was a _fortress,_ designed to blend in with the sprawling forestry that covered it. All the entry points laid out were either too exposed due to varying elevations or would, in some form or another, leave them too open, too vulnerable to offensive maneuvers—the supply and service gate ran along a narrow, steep mountain pass, which, he already knows, is just an ambush waiting to happen. Any form of air approach poses a huge risk of giving away their presence prematurely, having to clear the mountains in its perimeter, plus the fact that aerial strikes would be the first thing they’ll expect; the use of land vehicles would also be severely limited due to the terrain. 

Thor is the first one to voice his opinion, then Natasha. The rest of them follow closely after.

An hour quickly passes, their plans slowly taking shape.

They were so engrossed in their talks, so focused on debating about the advantages and disadvantages of each tactic, that JARVIS had to intervene to let them know Jane was waiting outside the door, seemingly in distress.

“Let her in, JARV.” Tony orders, brows furrowing with worry, but it was nothing compared to Thor’s, already moving towards her.

“Jane?” Thor’s deep baritone doesn’t hide any of his anxiety as he and the rest of the team take in her red, swollen eyes—her quivering form. She has been crying. A lot. 

She doesn't reply as her eyes frantically scan the room. Thor tries again—this time comfortingly resting a hand on her shoulder. “Jane, what ails you?”

“Bucky—“ she starts, eyes finally locking on to his. A cold jolt straightens his spine as he notices the desperation swirling within them.

“They…they said they tried to c—call you, but you weren't answering your phone, s—so they called me instead…” Her frantic, stilted voice, interrupted by sharp gulps of air, tapers off to a pained whisper. 

“Jane, wha—“ Steve interjected, but Bucky was too busy rushing to pull out his phone, fumbling slightly as he stands.

4 missed calls. Number unknown.

He could vaguely hear the team try to get more information out of Jane, as he’s more concerned with the ominous ringing that meets him as he lifts it to his ear. 

A kind, warm voice of an old woman filters through—what she says, however, was far, _far_ from pleasant.

“Mount Sinai St. Luke’s Emergency, Nurses’ Station.”

Dread flushes over him, his chest tightening painfully. He thinks he might've stopped breathing, and for some reason he finds it difficult to speak. Nat’s sharp eyes notice the shift in his demeanor, and she whips out her phone to search for answers. Tony orders JARVIS to find out what the hell was going on. Sam tries his shot at calming down Jane enough to talk.

“Hello?” The voice calls out. He barely musters the strength to reply.

“Y-yes. This is James Barnes. I missed a number of your calls earlier. I—I was in a meeting.” 

“Mr. Barnes, please hold for a moment.” He could hear her shifting through piles of paper, asking someone to confirm whether or not recent results were out. _Results for what?_ His mind was scrambling to comprehend. He ignores the soldier practically screaming at his ear— _You already know what happened. You know—_ ignores the way his chest seemed to stop working all together.

“Bucky, what’s wrong?” Steve approaches him urgently, desperate for any news. “What hap—“

“Sir,” everyone holds still at the blatant dismay in JARVIS’ tone, “there’s been an accident.”

Breaking news from multiple networks assault the screen, showing devastating shots of overturned and smashed cars. Police were everywhere, trying to push back civilians from the crash site. Scattered ambulances and a number paramedics treat and scour for any injured pedestrians and passengers.

Jane sobs anew, clawing at Thor in alarming sorrow.

_“Jesus Christ.”_ Steve breathed, frantically taking in the video reels on display. 

He vaguely notices Tony pull out his phone to call Pepper, Natasha muttering Russian obscenities as her initial search leave her questions unanswered. 

He almost forgets where he was, until he hears the woman again.

“Mr. Barnes, you’re listed as the primary emergency contact for Ms. Darcy Lewis, correct?” 

He doesn’t remember speaking, but she continues just the same. 

The numbness he feels is unlike anything he’s ever experienced. Suddenly, being frozen alive doesn’t seem all that unappealing.

“Ms. Lewis was brought in roughly ten minutes ago after having been involved in a car accident—”

The sounds around him mesh together, ringing loudly in his ears—the woman’s voice, the news reporters’, the sirens, the creak of metal as the chair twists under his grasp— _everything_.

_Witnesses on-site report that the ten-wheeler delivery truck blazed through a red light, causing the chain of collisions—_

_“Pep—Pep, are you alright?”_

_“—s_ he suffered from severe injuries—“

_Head trauma. Internal bleeding._ _Fractured spine._ The soldier in him knew what she meant, but he forces his understanding away. 

He can’t make himself believe any of it. He doesn't want to.

_Paramedics have been working fast to minimize casualties. Some of the more serious cases have already been rushed to nearby hospitals—_

_“What do you mean you can’t contact Lewis?”_

“—Paramedics initiated CPR on route. She was rushed to the O.R.—”

_“Sir, records in Mt. Sinai Emergency show they admitted Ms. Lewis just minutes ago—”_

Nat, always so strong and unyielding, bends suddenly, leaning heavily on both hands, head bowed. Her phone lie broken on the table. Her frame was shaking slightly. He knew she was trying hard not to cry. 

He thinks he’s way past crying.

Steve rushes to her side, worriedly keeping an eye on him as he did. _“Nat—”_

“—e doctors weren’t able to stabilize her condition—”

_“No. No no no no. This can’t be hap—JARVIS, check again!”_

“—ery sorry for your loss, Mr. Barn—”

Her words fade against the pounding in his ears. His phone falls to the floor. 

“ _James!”_

He hadn’t even realized that he had fallen on his knees— _crumpled_ —trying to curl up into himself—trying so hard to relieve the painful pressure in his chest, building and building, until he thinks it’s one breathe away from collapsing completely. 

Outside, what once was a normal sunny day is overcome by dark, looming clouds. The loudest crack of thunder rips through the sky. Heavy rain falls on the earth.

He drowns, but he does not cry. 

He _begs._

_Please. Please. Anything but this—please. Anything but this. Anything—_

Thor roars—the windows rattle from the echo of his grief. 

_I can’t do this without—please. I can’t. I ca—_

James Buchanan Barnes lets himself get swallowed by the ravaging torrent of his misery.

Sam crouches down in front of him, trying desperately to get through him. 

It takes the man several tries until he finally lifts his head, his thoughts clearer.

Sam stumbles back in horror. “ _Steve_!”

Everyone holds their breath, except Steve who rushes (cautiously) to his side. “ _Bucky?”_

Cold eyes stare back at the Captain, his face eerily blank.

A part of him wonders why the blonde man shows such emotion—calls him by such name—but he remembers he’s not suppose to question. He is a good asset—their _best_ , and so he speaks, “ready to comply.” 

Petrified faces stare speechlessly at him. There’s a distinct shift in the air, tense and foreboding. His metal arm whir silently in anticipation, waiting submissively for his orders.

“ _No_ ,” the man breathed before grasping his shoulders tightly, the soldier does not break his arms, “ _Bucky,_ listen to me, she wouldn’t want—don’t do _this_. _Please._ You know who you are. _Come on, Buck_. Don’t—”

The asset remains unmoved, the man tries again, “ _Buck_ —”

“Soldat.” His eyes snap to the red-headed woman standing before him. Pain swirls heavily in the blonde man’s eyes, in everyone’s. (He does not understand.)

The woman commands, “stoyat’.” He stands promptly. The man’s arms drop to his sides in defeat.

He hears the distinctive crunch of glass from under his boot, and looks down to see a broken phone, it’s screen lights flickering, as if (stubbornly) refusing to simply go away; on it, a picture of a woman with long, dark brown hair, blue eyes and lush red lips smiling playfully at him. He casts off the tinge of tightness in his chest (weapons do not feel), choosing instead to focus on the task at hand. 

The soldier kicks the phone to the side, refocuses on his handler, and repeats the only words that matter, 

“ready to comply.”

 

* * *

 

_“Don’t forget me, you goob.”_

He couldn’t keep his promise, not when she didn't keep hers. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my lovely readers. I apologize profusely for not posting new material in a long while. You'd be glad to hear that my first year of medical school has finally finished (hell yeah), and I have more time to write the stories I've put in the back burner because of it. After this, I'll hopefully wrap up another short story before I work on the next chapter for 'In the Sepulcher by the Sea'. Rest assured that I already have the outline of those waiting, so it's only a matter of finding the inspiration (and motivation) to actually sit down and write. 
> 
> I've read all your comments and I just want to guys to know that I'm really grateful for your feedback. Sorry if I don't reply to all (any) of them--again, it's more of a time issue than it is ignorance--know that I really value your input and advice. Plus, some of them actually gave me ideas from some of my projects. So if you have any suggestions or prompts, please don't hesitate to let me know. I make no promises, but let's see what I can whip up :)
> 
> In summary, thank you for indulging me by reading my stories. It really means a lot (you have no idea). I hope I can become a better writer as I learn from your comments and the like. 
> 
> PS. I have a thing for tragedies, if you haven't noticed that yet. I'm working on slighty happy/fluffy stories now. Hope I pull them off. Cheers!
> 
> PPS. if someone would be generous enough to lend me their time, I really need someone to read my work before I put it online, just to recheck spelling and other things (plot, flow, etc.). I do check my work beforehand, but after a few run throughs, everything kinda blurs at some point. If you're interested, please let me know! I'd really appreciate it :D


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